


Words to Live By

by ant5b



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Adoption, Drake Mallard dad rights, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-DT17 version of Darkly Dawns the Duck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 12:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: After their final encounter with Taurus Bulba, Drake expects to say goodbye.





	Words to Live By

“Do you have any threes?”

“Go fish.”

Gosalyn frowned. “You’re cheating,” she pronounced. 

“I am not!” Drake retorted, laughing. “We just might’ve finally found a game the great Gosalyn Waddlemeyer isn’t instantly good at. Don’t take it so hard, kid. Countless foes have tested their mettle against that of the caped crusader and come up short against the awe-inspiring prowess of Darkwing—”

“Do you have any sevens?”

“Hey! It’s still my turn!” 

The door to Drake’s hospital room opened and Launchpad stepped inside, looking amused by the heated exchange he had interrupted. “Hey, Gos, DW,” he said, gently closing the door behind him. His smile was bright, if tired, and he held a cup of coffee in his hand. 

Drake sat up a little taller in his bed, and Gosalyn looked up from the chair beside him. 

“LP,” Drake murmured by way of greeting. The anxiety coiling around his chest, which eased whenever Gosalyn snuck into his hospital room, abated entirely now that Launchpad was with him as well. 

“Hi, Launchpad,” Gosalyn said a little shyly, like she half expected to be rebuffed. The reality was rather the opposite as Launchpad ruffled her hair, already messy from her sleeping without her ponytail, as he made his way over to Drake. 

“Morning, kiddo,” he said as Gosalyn batted his hand away with a grin she tried and failed to smother. Then Launchpad turned his gaze on Drake and for a moment he had trouble breathing from something other than his cracked ribs. 

“Hey, DW,” Launchpad said again, expression warm. He cupped Drake’s elbow in one hand and lowered his head to kiss him on the cheek just under his eye. 

“Hey, yourself,” Drake replied as Launchpad pulled away, sporting a wide, goofy grin that Drake was probably close to mimicking. Their relationship was still new, exciting and delicate in ways that were both wondrous and a bit terrifying at times. After meeting Gosalyn, it was the best thing to ever come out of becoming Darkwing Duck. 

“So who’s winning this time?” Launchpad asked, taking the seat on Gosalyn’s other side. 

“Me,” Gosalyn and Drake replied at once. 

“We’re tied,” Drake said diplomatically. 

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. “If you want to call four to eight ‘tying.’”

“I’m playing the long game!” Drake immediately protested. 

Launchpad turned to look at Gosalyn as he sat down in the chair beside her. “Did he start talking about how nobody can stand up to the ‘prowess of Darkwing Duck’?”

Gosalyn nodded somberly. “You just missed it.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against bullying sick people,” Drake pointed out petulantly. 

“You aren’t sick,” Gosalyn replied. She plucked his cards out of his hands to shuffle them with her own as well as the ones in the unused pile on the tray over Drake’s lap. 

“Fine, I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against bullying blown up people,” Drake replied snippily, “or had-a-building-dropped-on-them people.”

Gosalyn busied herself with shuffling cards, her head bowed, though that didn’t mean Drake missed the watery shine of her eyes. “But you’re fine now, right?” she asked in a voice that was attempting to sound flippant. “Even if you do look like a mummy.”

“Sure I’m fine,” Drake said at once, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder with his good hand. He made apologetic eye contact with Launchpad as well, who’d frowned at the reminder of the events of a only a few days prior. “Like one measly exploding ray gun could keep Darkwing Duck down!” 

Drake was still swathed in bandages, with his arm and leg in a cast after the detonation of the Waddlemeyer Ramrod took out Bulba, the first five floors of Canard Tower, and landed him under rubble on the roof of a nearby skyscraper. 

Gosalyn hadn’t escaped unscathed either. As she looked up, smirking and pretending there weren’t still tears in her eyes, his gaze was drawn to the bandages on her cheek and her arms where Tantalus had scratched her and her wrists had been rubbed raw trying to escape from the rope Bulba’s henchmen had bound her with. The hospital gown the S.H.U.S.H. nurse had outfitted her with swamped her small frame, as they lacked anything resembling child sizes in their secret spy hospital. 

She brandished the playing cards once more, pouting slightly. “Remind me why we can’t play crazy eights?”

“Because you would definitely cheat,” Drake replied succinctly. “Now pass out the cards, little missy. Winning won’t be so easy now that it’s two against one!”

“Yeah, Gos, now we can beat DW fair and squad,” Launchpad said, chuckling at the offended look Drake shot his way. 

Gosalyn began passing out cards with all the showmanship of a Vegas dealer, which sets off a few warning bells in Drake’s head. But she was smiling more than Drake had seen in days, looking relaxed for the first time since the whole mess with Bulba first started, and so he let it be for the moment. 

“By the way, Launchpad,” Drake began, turning instead to Launchpad as he gathered his cards in an organized pile, “what did the good doctor have to say? Have I been issued a clean bill of health?”

Launchpad snorted. “You broke your leg in three places.”

“Your point being?”

“Dr. Bellum wants to keep you under observation for another two weeks,” Launchpad said, too quick to be casual, and studiously avoided his gaze by making like he was incredibly interested in his playing cards. 

Drake immediately shook his head. “Well no, that just won’t do. She won’t come in here anymore, something about me being a ‘nightmare patient,’ do you’ll have to get her to change her mind, Launchpad. Tell her, I don’t know, tell her I’ll heal better from home or some garbage like that.”

Launchpad still wouldn’t look him in the eye, and went so far as to raise his cards in front of his face. “Um, I might’ve given her the idea in the first place?”

_ “Launchpad!” _

Gosalyn giggled, covering her beak with her hands, but at Drake’s shrill exclamation her laughter burst forth until she was nearly bent in half, her cards splayed for all to see.

For his part, Launchpad shrugged helplessly. “It was the only way to get you to actually get some rest! I know you, Drake, and you’re more likely to try and fight crime in a wheelchair than take a break.”

“Hey,” Gosalyn piped up, tugging on the sleeve of Drake’s hospital gown. “At least this means we get to hang out more, right?”

Drake rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile that tempered any vitriol in the action. “You bet,” he said, reaching out to rub her arm, “just me and my fellow prisoner.”

“Actually, the doc said Gosalyn should have the all clear by tomorrow,” Launchpad said hesitantly, “and I spoke to Mrs. Cavanaugh, the, uh, director at the orphanage? So she knows to expect us.”

Drake’s heart sat leaden in his chest and it was only through sheer force of will that he kept the smile on his face. Because how could he forget that things would have to go back to the way they were? How dare he be so presumptuous as to imagine a life with Gosalyn in it, as if the last two weeks of protecting her, joking with her, loving her, would set a precedent. She’d be able to return to the orphanage now, where a stable, normal, safe parent would find her spirit as extraordinary as he did. It was what Gosalyn deserved. 

“Oh.” 

Gosalyn’s voice was the quietest Drake had ever heard it. She looked lost, her eyes a little too wide in her face and her shoulders slumped. 

“Does...does that mean I won’t see you again?” she demanded, suddenly frantic. 

“Course you’ll see me again, kiddo,” Drake hastened to reassure her, even as his heart cracked down the middle. For as long as he was able, until he faded from her life completely. “Whenever you want, you just say the word.”

“I…” she tugged self-consciously on an errant lock of hair, expression awash with more emotions than could be named. “I think I’m gonna hang out in my room for a little bit,” she mumbled, pushing back her chair. She left her playing cards behind, splayed out on Drake’s blankets, and didn’t look back. 

  
  


Drake awoke in the middle of the night with the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in his hospital room. 

They’d upped his dosage of painkillers sometime in the afternoon, after Launchpad ratted him out for trying to get out of bed on his own and falling flat on his face, setting his cracked ribs aflame. He’d wanted to see Gosalyn before she left in the morning and since Launchpad had revealed that she would be returning to the orphanage she’d rebuffed all of their attempts at speaking with her, much less getting her to come back to Drake’s room. 

As was the case in all S.H.U.S.H. bases there wasn’t an actual window to be found. So while Drake’s room was dark as the hour was late, there were a series of pale blue glowing lights over the door and just above the floor preventing pitch blackness. 

He blinked hard, fighting the pull of the drugs, and glanced around to find what had awoken him in the first place. A quiet sniffling drew his attention before his vision caught up with him, and he zeroed in on the chair at his bedside. There a small figure sat curled up, arms wrapped around bent knees and face hidden against them as their shoulders trembled. 

“Gosalyn?” he murmured, working around the cottony taste medically induced sleep had left in his mouth. 

She sniffed, raising her head to rub her eye with the heel of her palm. 

“Hey, Darkwing,” she said, her voice thin and wobbly. 

“Kiddo, I thought I told you, you can call me Drake,” he replied gently, propping himself up on his pillows with a wince. His broken leg swayed dangerously in its sling, but mercifully remained propped up. 

“Sorry, Drake,” Gosalyn whispered, even quieter than before. 

“Alright, now you’re worrying me,” he said, willing a wry smile onto his face, but the joke felt as flat as his expression. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Gosalyn laughed, a hoarse burst of sound. “Uh,  _ duh.” _

Drake sighed. “Gosalyn —”

_ “I just,”  _ she blurted, and her expression crumpled. “I just...I don’t want to go back.”

“Back?” Drake repeated, continuing more softly, “you mean the orphanage?”

Gosalyn shook her head fiercely and buried her face against her knees again.

“It  _ sucks  _ there, Drake. Like, it really,  _ really  _ sucks. I’ve been there longer than almost anyone else, almost a whole  _ year, _ and even the new kids are already sick of me. Mrs. Cavanaugh says I play too rough and my pranks are a nuisance, but I don’t mean to cause trouble! It’s just so boring there and I get so  _ mad  _ sometimes when nobody listens...”

His chest feeling tight, Drake reached out to lay a hand against her hair. 

“I’m not a problem child,” she bit out angrily, raising her head. Her green eyes sparked with tears. “I’m  _ not.” _

“Of course you’re not, Gosalyn,” Drake murmured, fury simmering low in his gut but not letting it show on his face. He moved his hand to her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Who said you were?”

She rolled her eyes. “Who hasn’t? I’ve had prospective parents literally run out of the room when I tried telling them about how Grandpa was killed so bad guys could get at his inventions. Or they’ll say I have a ‘colorful imagination,’ and that’s just insulting. I had a presentation! There was evidence and flashcards and everything!”

Gosalyn gesticulated indignantly with one arm, the picture of malcontent. But her expression shuttered once more, and she pulled her arm back to rub against the side of her sniffling beak. 

“The only person who ever wanted me was Grandpa,” she muttered, “I don’t know how to make people...like me. To make them want to adopt me. Maybe no one ever will.”

Drake felt helpless in the face of Gosalyn’s grief even as his instincts screamed at him to leap to action. There was no foe here, no way for Darkwing to make things right. This time, Drake Mallard would have to suffice. 

“Don’t say that,” Drake countered, soft but stern. Emotion welled in his throat, threatening to choke him, but he said as confidently as he could, “Anyone would be lucky to have you as their daughter.” 

Gosalyn scoffed, pulling away from him with a scornful expression. “Yeah, like I’ve never heard that one before. Anyone besides  _ you, _ right?” 

His heart might’ve stilled in his chest at that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed. His world had narrowed to Gosalyn’s scowl, her crossed arms and averted gaze, her words replaying in his head. 

“Me?” was all he managed to say, the question tripping off his tongue in broken fragments like glass. 

“Forget I said that,” Gosalyn muttered hotly, staring at her feet. “Forget —forget I said anything.”

_ Forget? _ Drake had already committed it to memory. 

“You want me to adopt you?” he asked shakily.

“I know it’s stupid,” she said, “just forget it, okay? Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

Pressure built behind his bruised ribs, and his chest heaved with a laugh, with a sob, that he was unable to contain. 

“It’s—it’s not stupid,” he managed, his beak curling in an incredulous smile as terror and joy took root inside him, tinged with it’s fair share of hysteria. The truth came to him easier than he thought, like it had always been there waiting for him. “Gosalyn, I would love to adopt you.” 

Her face screwed up with the effort on containing her tears and she shook her head forcefully, sending her curls flying. “That’s not funny,” she snapped, but any venom she tried to convey had fled and instead her voice trembled. 

“It’s not meant to be,” Drake said, and he reached out to her with his good hand. “Kid. Gosalyn. You know how bad I am at jokes.”

She laughed, a thick, choked off sound. “They’re just as bad as your one-liners.”

“Ouch,” he said, miming a wince. “Well, now that we’ve established that I’m not funny, what makes you think I’m joking?”

“I…” Gosalyn looked down at Drake’s hand, still outstretched invitingly. “Nobody ever wants me around.”

“I do,” he said, voice heavy with conviction. “Are you sure you want  _ me  _ around?” He wiggled his broken arm and leg accordingly. “I’m not exactly the stuff of legend, kiddo.”

Drake grunted when he suddenly found himself with an armful of teary-eyed ten year old. 

“Don’t say that,” Gosalyn chided against his shoulder, “that’s my hero you’re talking about. I take that as a personal insult.” 

Tears sprung to his eyes as he hugged her back with all he was worth, cursing his broken arm. Her slight weight in his embrace felt immeasurably fragile, and doubly precious. 

“ Hey, watch the ribs, kid,” he breathed on a shaky exhale,  squeezing Gosalyn just a little bit tighter. 

“You’re hugging me too,” she retorted immediately, but pulled away just the same. 

Drake loosened his hold but she didn’t go very far, settling back on the bed on her bent knees. He brushed her bangs out of her eyes and caressed the downy feathers of her cheek with his thumb, brushing away all evidence of tears. 

“I’d be honored to adopt you, Gos. Whadaya say?” 

“I say,” Gosalyn began, huddling close against his side and wrapping her arms around him so gently his heart positively ached, “let’s get dangerous.”


End file.
